The Truth Test
by TheDoctor'sDearestCompanion
Summary: Thomas wakes up in WICKED and discovers that everything he thought was true is a lie - and he's really not okay. AU ending to TDC.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the bloody Maze Runner series. Nor do I own the characters therein. I just own what I'm wearing and this laptop I'm typing on.

* * *

Contrary to popular opinion, the first sense that returned to his consciousness was not hearing but proprioception. He was floating, hanging like a planet in the vastness of space. A thick, mucousy fluid filled the space around him, except for a mask that covered his nose and mouth, delivering puffs of humid air that tasted vaguely medicinal. He moved his hands against the fluid, and it parted, slower than water but not immovable. What felt like tubes twisted around him, impeding his progress, but he only stopped when he came in contact with a hard, smooth surface. As his hands brushed over it, his breath hitched in his throat at a sudden realization. He was completely enclosed.

A methodical pounding slowly came to his attention and he realized that it was the sound of his own beating heart, loyally keeping him alive although he had almost forgotten it was there. Frowning as more whirrs and clicks appeared out of the darkness, he began to wonder why his vision remained so resolutely obscured. He tried to blink, but couldn't – something was holding his eyes shut.

A deafening ringing sounded around him as a sudden pain in his head brought back a burst of memory.

_Thomas. My name is Thomas. _

The muscles in his face contorted against the intensifying pain and he fought the urge to curl in on himself.

A flash of light singed his retinas as he remembered again.

_Minho. Teresa. Brenda._

_Newt._

He screamed, the pain streaking like lightning down his limbs, but the mental torture was worse. For one solitary moment, he had forgotten. His mind had been tranquil and free of the one thing that he had wanted to forget the most – and now it was brought again to the forefront of his mind while he was trapped in this living hell, his only option to remember.

The all-consuming pain burst just as he had thought he was finally going to be allowed to die. In his mind, a single fact appeared before his vision, the image so strong that he swore he saw the afterburn of it dancing across the inside of his eyelids.

_WICKED IS GOOD._

Thomas' blood chilled and his heart skipped a beat as he remembered. They had been trying to escape, once and for all. To end the catastrophe. The last moment he remembered was running through the Flat-Trans with Minho, leaving Teresa behind... dead.

But they had caught him again. It was the only way to explain how he had woken up in this cage, being held against his will.

_NO._

He wouldn't let them. He refused to let them win. Thomas pounded his fists against the metal walls that surrounded him, but quickly realized that it was useless. Something had changed, they had done something to his body. He felt weak and sluggish, the gel making it difficult to move and his muscles aching at the slightest exertion. He tried again and again, desperately forcing himself to ignore the stabbing pain biting into his arms and legs.

He gave up, limbs sagging in defeat. There was no point. If he was once again in WICKED's grasp, they would never let him go. They never had. Despite all his efforts, somehow, they always found him again.

In the back of his mind, he registered a frantic beeping noise and what sounded like shouting coming from outside his cell. But he was too exhausted to care. He knew that there was nothing he could do. They wouldn't even grant him the dignity of death.

"_His heart rate is coming back down."_

"_Good. He should be here any minute. Just keep him stable until he gets here, then we can open him up."_

Thomas floated in the darkness, listening to the conversation that seemed to come from nowhere, and decided that if he ever got out of this tomb, he would find a way to die. WICKED or no WICKED, he was determined, and he would make it happen. He had let the Trials go far enough – they had taken his life, but they would not take the freedom of death from him too.

His mouth quirked in a half-smile as a flash of memory filtered through his razor-filled, poison-coated thoughts like the last glimpse of the sun before a storm.

It was his mother. She was speaking softly... telling him about his father. His father, who wasn't immune, who was a Crank, who was going to be past the Gone soon. Her mouth was thinly drawn in the sort of smile that spoke of soul-deep exhaustion, but her eyes were determined. She had a purpose in mind. Her lips formed comforting words, telling Thomas that Death was nothing to fear... that Death was only a pathway to another life, where we would be reunited with the loved ones who had gone before us.

Thomas exhaled slowly. He was ready. After all, if he died, it only meant he could see his parents again. And his friends. Chuck. Teresa. Newt. He could apologize.

_I am so sorry for failing you..._

His eyes burned and prickled. He squeezed them shut to avoid letting the tears escape, but he felt the moisture slip from his eyes as if in rebellion against his last attempt at dignity.

_Forgive me–_

A sharp alarm blared in his ears, louder than anything he could remember hearing in his entire life. A soft woosh sounded from beneath him, and the gel around him begin to swirl down into a vent that had opened underneath his feet. He struggled to pull his arms out of the slippery liquid and gasped as he realized just how weak he was without the gel there to support him. A sliver of frighteningly cool air hit his skin and color – color! – he had begun to think he'd gone blind. Swirling golden-yellow spots scorched his eyes through his eyelids, but they were more beautiful than anything he'd ever seen. Thomas felt his heart race at the sudden exposure, knowing that he was quickly approaching another encounter with the people who put him through this hell. This was his only chance to end it all. But what if they didn't let him? What if they killed him before he could make the choice himself?

"Calm down there, A2." A voice right in front of him startled him into a panic. He raised his arms to pull at the strange device covering his mouth, wanting to ask questions, wanting to know what the hell they thought they were doing to him –

"You need to calm down. We're not going to hurt you, just breath slowly, okay?"

But Thomas couldn't seem to pull in air fast enough. His lungs ached for oxygen and he sucked it in as fast as the machine over his nose and mouth could supply it.

_No, no, no, no, I won't let you have me again, I'm done, I'm done, I'm done..._

Darkness on the edges of his vision encroached on the new found light, and he hoped it meant death was coming. Death was what he wanted.

"I need some help in here!"

Panicked voices shouted around him, rapidly spouting technical jargon back and forth along with obvious profanities.

"Where is A5?!"

Thomas' head lolled forward and his body sagged against the restraints. His vision flickered uncertainly.

_Please, let this be the end..._

Then he heard it, and he knew he must be dead.

"Tommy?"

The frantic beeping began to slow. Gentle hands grasped Thomas' arms.

"It's okay, Tommy. It's gonna be okay. Slim yourself, shank."

His vision began to return and he saw shadows shift around him as the hands pulled his mask off, and then moved to his arms. Tiny pinpricks of pain stung his inner elbows, but he was too tired to flinch or even wonder what had been done to him. The hands moved to release him from the restraints and Thomas braced his legs to stand, but they were so weak that as soon as he was released they buckled under him helplessly.

A pair of strong arms caught him before he could hit the floor.

"Easy now. You're gonna be pretty weak at first. Hang on to me for now, alright?"

Thomas did so, grasping onto the warm and sturdy shoulder that he knew couldn't be as real as it felt. He shuffled forward a few feet, and then to the side and backwards, guided by the ghost. Soon the back of his knees hit something soft, and he sat down reflexively onto what felt like a bed.

The hands holding him steady suddenly disappeared and his heart leaped into his throat. White-knuckled, he gripped the starchy sheets underneath him.

"D-don't le-eave." The words tore out of his throat, and he bent over as a bout of coughing exploded in his chest like firecrackers.

"I'm not leaving you, Tommy."

A glass was pressed into his hand. He sniffed it, and took a sip – water – then downed the contents all at once, belatedly realizing how thirsty he was. Someone took the empty glass from his hands as he sat there, breathing in and out and trying to keep from having another coughing fit.

"Alright, stay still now. I'm gonna take the tape off your eyelids."

Careful fingers picked at the edges of the tape until it came free, peeling it slowly off of Thomas' face. He didn't wince even as the adhesive pulled at the thin skin around his eyes, but once the light fully hit them, he couldn't help but cover them with his hands.

"Sorry, they're going to be a bit sensitive for a while."

Thomas sat there, mind whirling and eyes aching. A numbness had filled his head, and he had no idea what to think or what to do. The hands were back, taking his arms one by one and applying a cold, wet solution to the pinprick areas. It stung momentarily, but then faded until Thomas couldn't even feel it. He began to shiver, suddenly realizing that he only had on a thin pair of shorts, still wet from the chamber he'd been in. Only moments later, a blanket was draped across his shoulders, and he pulled it around himself silently, not able to bring himself to speak again yet. But after several moments of silence, he finally pulled together the courage to ask the question that had consumed his thoughts since he first heard the voice.

"Newt?" The word that he had avoided for so long felt like agony on his tongue and came out as the barest of whispers. He didn't know if he wanted to hear the reply. Either way, he knew the truth.

"Yeah, Tommy. It's me."

He could hear the smile in the voice as a hand encircled his own, squeezing comfortingly, and his heart broke all over again.

"You're dead." He felt the tears coming on and he fought against them, pulling his hand away, trying to distance himself from the pain that was burning his mind alive. He couldn't bring himself to look up. No matter who's face he saw, it wouldn't be _him._ It wasn't real. It could never be real. It was just another way for WICKED to hurt him, to give him hope and then crush him with it. And he wouldn't give them that satisfaction again.

"I'm not." The voice became quieter and streaked with guilt. "Tommy, I'm not, I'm right here."

Thomas' face became a mask of steel.

"My name is _Thomas._ And my friend Newt is dead."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: If I were James Dashner, I wouldn't kill the characters you love.

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Newt stared disbelievingly at his friend, a sick feeling pooling in his stomach. He'd been waiting for the moment that he'd be reunited with Thomas since the day he'd left the sim chamber. He'd dreamed about it in a number of beautiful and terrifying ways, most contributing adversely to his insomnia, but the hope that things might actually be okay after Thomas woke up was enough to keep him going. But as Thomas pushed him away, he realized that the fear that had colored his nightmares for so long was finally turning into reality. They'd gone too far, and Thomas wasn't okay.

Newt was thankful that Thomas wouldn't look at him, as tears began to flood his eyes. He tilted his head toward the ceiling and blinked furiously.

_All of this for nothing._ _All we've done, and this is the outcome. _

"I won't." Thomas' scratchy voice echoed through the white-walled laboratory that had been their home during the long weeks of the Trials. He almost sounded normal.

The blonde Glader took a deep shuddering breath and rubbed a hand over his eyes. He had to keep it together. "What do you mean?"

"I won't do this any more," Thomas spat out, "The Trials. I'm done."

Newt closed his eyes and turned his head away for a moment. When he looked back, "You _are _done, To- Thomas. It's bloody over now. The Trials have ended."

A noise that was more cough than laugh burst from his friend. "You expect me to shucking believe that?" he murmured, more to himself than Newt. He fell silent.

Newt shifted, moving to help Thomas up, "I'm going to take you to your new room now," Newt spoke softly and placed his hand on Thomas' arm, "I'll need to-"

He paused abruptly as Thomas snapped his head up and looked straight into Newt's eyes. A moment passed, and Newt didn't dare breath, didn't dare look away.

He saw it half a second before it happened – just a shadow in his expression, and not enough time to guess what it meant.

Thomas shrieked in rage, shoving Newt with more strength than he would have expected from someone recently out of a sim chamber. He stumbled back, and might have stayed standing, if it hadn't been for his bad leg giving out underneath him and sending him crashing to the floor, his head hitting the concrete with a crack-

Darkness.

The air felt thick in his ears and a muddy fog distorted his vision. A shadow passed over him, pain flaring sharply in his side as the figure kicked him in its uncoordinated haste towards the door.

"Tommy...?" Newt slurred, pushing himself onto his knees, the monochrome room spinning around him. He pressed two fingers to the silver band that encircled his wrist, and held it up to his mouth. "A5 to security." His stomach twisted. "A2 is running."

Newt pulled himself over to the wall and sat against it, ignoring the chirp of the communicator that signaled a reply. He stared blankly at the rows of sim chambers, all twenty of them empty. A1-B10. That had been the extent of the Trials. Twenty people. Everyone else had been a part of the simulation. Ben. Brenda. Chuck. Many more. Each a lie, born of a computer program, born to manipulate their emotions in order to create the Cure.

_Born to drive us shucking mad._

When Newt had woken up in possession of both his life and his sanity, he had counted it a miracle. When he learned that none of what had happened in the Maze, in the Scorch, in Denver was real, he'd had a brief crisis of reality, not unlike what Thomas was going through. But when they told him that Thomas was alive and well and _real_ and would be exiting the simulation soon, he'd found something concrete to hold on to, something to hope for.

But everything was falling apart again, and it made him question it all. Now more than ever, he knew exactly what WICKED stood for and what they had done. The Cure was being synthesized at that very moment, almost ready to be shipped out to save what remained of humanity. A replacement therapy for everything that the Flare had destroyed in the minds of its victims.

There had been loss in the process of attaining the Cure. Loss of innocence, loss of sanity... loss of life. Despite the fact that the physical dangers of the Trials were simulated and couldn't hurt them, the mental toll of the experience had cost some of the subjects – Newt swore and shook his head – some of _his friends _their lives. Alby had been among the few that had committed suicide after exiting the simulation. Newt had numbly taken it in as Zart, his waking-assistant, had filled him in on the truth of their experience. And truthfully, it hadn't hurt at first. After all, he'd already seen Alby die, so it really hadn't felt as if he'd lost him twice. But the more he'd thought about it, the sicker it had made him. Knowing that Alby had survived the Maze only to die by his own hand; that if Newt had been there, he might have been able to stop him... to do for Alby what Alby had once done for him.

But he'd woken up too late.

Newt gritted his teeth and pushed himself shakily to his feet. God help him if he was going to let the same thing happen to Thomas.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't shucking own a shucking thing. And saying shucking is very shucking therapeutic. You should shucking try it. Shuck-faces.

* * *

Teresa knew that Thomas was awake when an earsplitting scream sliced through her mind like razor wire. She flinched and pressed her hands to her forehead. _Tom, calm down! _

_NO!_

The furious shriek made her heart stutter mid-beat, and she leaped to her feet. Ignoring the confused shout of the therapist behind her, she ran down the hall. _Where are you?_

Her brow furrowed as she entered a lift and slammed the button for the simulation floor. _Tom, __can you hear me? Hang on, I'm coming to find you –_

_GET OUT OF MY HEAD!_

The force of the mental shove she received in reply sent her reeling against the wall. She grappled for a hold, trying to process what Thomas had just done. _What the hell are you doing? Tom?_

The words seemed to double back on themselves, bouncing off the curves of her mind, unable to pass through the door between her and Thomas that was now sealed shut by some act of anger and fear.

Teresa knew it was possible to shut off the link they shared; she'd done it herself in the simulation. But this time it was Thomas who had done it, and with a cold rage that made her tremble inside. Why? What had gone so horribly wrong that he would cut her off without question?

She hesitated a moment, then threw a thought out to Aris. _Aris, how's your day been?_

The thought slid swiftly through the door, and after a moment: _Not bad, group therapy's a bit slow though. Yourself?_

So Thomas _had_ shut off their link – it wasn't a malfunction. Obviously, the sim chamber exit hadn't gone as planned. Had his memories returned?

She regretted leaving Aris hanging, but she didn't have time to chat. Finding Thomas was the priority. As soon as the lift stopped and the doors chimed open, she took off running, ignoring the instinct that told her to stop and think.

She turned a corner and halted in her tracks just in time to avoid running into a stormy-faced Minho.

"The shuck are you doing here?" He nearly bit her head off, grabbing her arm and pulling her back around the corner.

She wrestled her arm away. "Thomas is awake, and he's... something's wrong."

Minho's expression grew darker, and he opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off, "I have to find him."

"That's the-"

"No, I'm going to find him. If you want to help, fine, but you aren't going to make me-"

"Can you shut your shucking mouth for one second?" Minho snapped at her. "I got a message from security. They said Thomas didn't take it well, he's running."

Teresa rolled her eyes darkly. "That much was obvious from the moment he started screaming in my head. Which is why we need to go find him now before he does something stupid!"

"Shut up." Minho tensed as faint footsteps echoed through the hallways around them. He carefully glanced back and forth before leaning towards her and hissing, _"We _aren't going anywhere. If Thomas sees you, do you realize what that'll do to his head? He's already gone off the deep end after seeing Newt. You're supposed to be dead too, remember?" Minho shook his head, his expression disgusted. "And you want to go in there and show him another ghost? Good shucking thinking."

He took her arm again and began to lead her back to the lift. She didn't try to stop him.

"Here's what you're gonna do. You're gonna wait right here for Newt; if he's following procedure, he should be heading back here right now. When he gets here, I want you both to head back up and get yourselves out of sight. Stay in your rooms. I don't want to see either of your klunk faces when I get up there, got it?"

Teresa nodded, wanting to protest, but biting her tongue. "Fine. You're going to find Thomas?"

He nodded, squeezing his hands into fists and then releasing them. "I'm gonna find him." He turned on his heel, leaving Teresa to watch him leave. "Stupidest shucking idea ever, letting Newt do this by himself," he muttered, as he walked away._  
_

Teresa stood by the lift door, trying to keep herself under control. Anyone who saw her would say she looked calm, relaxed even. But inside, she was struggling to keep the cracks from tearing her apart. She had hoped that everything would go well with Thomas' awakening. Of course, she'd known it was possible that there could be complications, and that even if there weren't Thomas might not want to see her anyway. But she couldn't help hoping that her friend, her closest friend before the Trials, would retain enough good memories of her to be able to repair their strained relationship._  
_

No, she didn't _need _Thomas. Not to live. But he was such an integral part of her, and she didn't know how she would be able to function correctly without him. They were two of a pair, like twins in a sense, brought to WICKED around the same time and chosen to be leaders, partners, before they even knew how important that role would be.

When Teresa had exited the simulation, she'd regained her memories almost immediately. She was later told that it normally took several days, sometimes weeks, for the memory block to wear away. Her case was unusual, they'd said, but not dangerous. According to the doctors, nothing had gone wrong, but it had still almost driven her mad – she could barely remember waking up. It had seemed like she was waking from one dream only to enter another. Though her wake-assistant, Rachel, had reported that Teresa was the smoothest awakening yet, it had taken her days to feel anything again. She'd failed the psych evaluation so badly that they'd scheduled her a private therapy session. And it had helped, especially when she began to remember her past with Thomas, when the immensity of what she had given up due to her role in the simulation became all too clear to her.

She still didn't regret it, betraying him. She would give Thomas up a thousand times over to ensure his survival.

She just wished she didn't have to._  
_


End file.
